


Some Such Cheesy Bullshit

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, My Sweet Darlings, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Dolls uses pet names to refer to an Earp, and one time Wynonna does it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Such Cheesy Bullshit

1.

When they’re sure Waverly’s gonna be fine—she escaped without a single stitch—once she’s gone to her room, Wynonna loses her comforting smile and flops across the couch.  It’s still fairly covered in pulverized plaster, but she doesn’t seem to care.  She covers her face with both hands, heaving a long groan.  For a long time, she doesn’t move, so he steps over to the back of the couch, where she’s still got her hands over her face.

“You okay, there, Earp?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the cushions.

Her fingers split so she can peek up at him.  “Stellar,” she fairly snarls, but there’s nothing more than exhaustion in her eyes.

He lets her mope for a few more minutes before grabbing her wrist and tugging her gently up.  “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” he grunts.

Grumbling, she stands and slumps off into the hall.  He follows without really knowing what he’s doing.  He barely knows what’s going on when she closes the door behind him.  Her eyes have a strange sort of glint to them, careful and thoughtful but something else.  “You could stay,” she offers lowly, “There’re probably Call of Duty cosplayers at your place.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen the couch, I’ll pass,” he laughs.

Wynonna closes the space between them slowly, pauses a moment before their lips touch as if waiting for him to pull away but he is _frozen_ and not in the creepy succubus way, and brushes a feather-light kiss against his lips.  She whispers, “That’s not what I meant.”

Then she just walks away, past him towards the bed, and he can hear her jeans unzip and then hit the floor.  “Hit the lights,” she calls, jumping into bed.

“Yes, dear,” he mocks, smacking the switch on the wall.

2.

Warm with sleep, Dolls tries valiantly to ignore the alarm that’s buzzing on the nightstand.  Wynonna _urges_ him to ignore it, but now he’s awake and years of habit aren’t gonna be broken by one night.  She moans plaintively when he pulls away.  Her arm flaps back as if to catch him, ends up landing heavily on his thigh.

“Sleep,” she croons, eyes still shut tight.

“It’s time to get up,” he replies, stroking her hip.  She rolls over, winds her arm around his neck, drags her teeth over his throat.  “Wynonna,” he warns.

“Stay in bed,” she coaxes, leg sliding up over his waist.

It’s proving a pretty good strategy.

When he falls onto his back, she follows, splayed out on top of him and kisses him, open and kinda hot.  She sits up onto her knees, pressing his shoulders down when he tries to follow and rocking her hips against his.  He lets his head drop back onto the pillow, trying so suppress a groan.  She keeps him pinned even as she drops down to kiss him, whispering into his mouth, “I _really_ want you right now.  Touch me.”

He's helpless to do anything but obey, fingers teasing up the backs of her thighs, gripping into her rolling hips, slipping up under her tank top.  She rewards him with a bitten-off mewl when he squeezes her breasts.

The sound of the doorknob rattling jolts through the moment and Wynonna jumps, tumbling off of him to sit next to him as Waverly calls, “Wyn?  Why is your door locked?”

“It’s nothing!” she shouts back, voice pitched slightly higher than usual.  “I’ll be out in a minute.”

When they can hear footsteps walking away from the door, she falls back into the pillow next to him.

“Dammit,” she curses.

“Some other time, eh, hon?” he teases, smacking a kiss to her temple before dragging himself out of bed.

3.

Dolls is—well, Dolls is _drunk_ , doubled-over laughing at something Waverly’s said that he can’t even _remember_ anymore. 

Wynonna comes back into the room to set a bottle down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary, making him and Waverly burst into howling laughter once more.  But now Wynonna’s giving him a Look, something like worry but something like amusement, like she’s stifling something.  Grinning so hard it _hurts_ in the best way, he drags her into his lap and plants a sloppy kiss to the corner of her mouth.  It sets off Waverly again, but Wynonna’s turned into him, arm winding over his shoulders to steady herself.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he snickers.

“You’re drunk,” she accuses, pressing their foreheads together.

He is.  “I am.”

Under them, the chair creaks dangerously, and she mumbles, “Possible this chair isn’t meant for the two of us.”

4.

Everything is… foggy.  Or not.  Things come in and out of focus.  Morphine is _great_.  Or whatever it is that’s making him not feel the bullet wound they tell him he sustained.  He knows he’s been in and out, memories breaking apart and reforming confusedly.  Blearily, he can see Waverly standing with her back to him, shoulders slouched and sniffling.  It’s just her there, no Wynonna to be found.

“Hey,” he croaks, trying and failing miserably to push himself up a little.  There’s a pang and he lets himself drop back.

Turning back to face him, Waverly swipes irritably at her cheeks before she crouches next to the bed and stands back up with the remote to raise it up.  “You wanna sit?” she asks, frowning at the buttons.

He nods slowly, feeling a little like he’s moving through jello, and mumbles, “Thanks,” when she presses the button.  She offers a weak half-smile and sets the remote next to his hand.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” she huffs.  “I’m fine.”

His eyes are starting to feel heavy again, but he tries to shake the feeling away.  “C’mon, little sis,” he slurs a little.  “Everything’s gonna be okay, okay?”

5.

Sighing, Wynonna stretches, but her hand lands on his side where she traces around raised scar tissue.  She makes a small, displeased noise in the back of her throat as she presses her lips to his bare shoulder.  “You’re not allowed to almost die on me again, okay?” she whispers.  “I’m gonna be _so pissed_ if you pull something like that again.”

“Yeah,” he snipes idly, “I’ll be sure to avoid any future ambushes.”

“Good, if you could just do that for me,” she jokes flatly.

Taking a deep breath, he drags her hand from that spot just under his ribs to the center of his chest.  She lets him without protest, only wriggling closer to hitch her knee over his legs as if to hold him there.

“Do you ever think,” she eventually breathes, “About people get to go on totally normally?”

“What would you have done with a normal life?” he asks sleepily.

“Maybe I coulda been a rock star,” she answers thoughtfully.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” she hums.  “Once this whole thing is over, if I’m still alive, maybe I should learn to play guitar.”

“Okay,” he snorts.  “Get some rest, love.”

She goes very still for a moment, but yawns and relaxes against him.

+1.

“You aren’t relaxing,” Wynonna sing-songs, and Dolls can feel her staring at him when he checks his phone.  When he doesn’t acknowledge her, she starts digging her toes under his thigh.

“What?” he sighs, finally turning to her.

Pulling a face, she replies, “’What?’  Gimme the phone.”

He weighs the options for a few moments before relenting.  It’s best not to argue, anyway.  She’s still squinting at him after she sets the phone on the coffee table.  “What now?” he asks lightly.

“Come _here_ ,” she urges, brow furrowed.  Making a show of rolling his eyes, he crawls up the couch and settles his hips between her legs.  He hovers over her until she looks pointedly at her wrist, whining, “So, are you gonna—”

Then he cuts her off, crashing their lips together.  He feels her smile before he pulls away and whispers, “Do I seem relaxed enough?”

“Oh,” she breathes, “Not yet, babe.  Not even close.”

Head tipping, he laughs, “Did you just call me ‘babe’?”

“Yeah, it felt wrong even as I was saying it,” she muses, frowning distantly.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this just after 1.11 so I mean...
> 
> Check out my [Tumblr](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com) where I never actually get tired talking about these dweebs (really, I am actively inviting y'all to talk to me about them).


End file.
